


Egg

by TheSushiMonster



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1520768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSushiMonster/pseuds/TheSushiMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(or - Five Times Leopold Fitz Fell In Love With Jemma Simmons and the One Time He Realized It)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Egg

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through 1x19, plus possible spoilers for a scene in the finale. I don’t own Bloom by the Paper Kites.

_i. and the sun is coming through_

Jemma sits down without introduction or greeting, all bright eyes and nervous ticks - she’s wringing her hands and biting her lips, but she’s also sitting with straight shoulders. “Hello,” says Fitz slowly, cautiously, his right hand positioned in between the pages of his book and his left squeezing his knee tightly.

“Fitz,” says Jemma, slowly, and deliberately, and his heart stops. “You go by Fitz, right?”

He nods, his left hand now joining his right. He’s magnetized to her eyes, her face, the way the corner of her lips quirk upwards, pleased.

“I need a partner for this electrophysics lab,” she says, hopeful smile masking the anxiety rolling through her voice. Her fingers tap against the wooden table and Fitz follows the tiny movements, up and down, even when she curls her nails into her palm. Every twitch is another spark, her muscles gears slowly grinding and digging past the thick fog settled on his shoulders. “I was wondering - “ she says, and he glances back at her face, “if you’d like to - well - “

“You want to work on the project with me?” says Fitz, frowning, the monster in his chest scratching lightly against his guts. Jemma nods with eager eyes, but when Fitz hesitates further, pulling his book towards him and hiding charcoal sketches against his chest, she nods but with a small smile.

“No, I get it,” she says, fingers running into her bag, hiding - she’s running away from him, in fingers and words and soon with feet - “you’re brilliant with physics and while I’m more than capable, my expertise _is_ biochemistry, so it’d only be logical for you to look for someone with a similar engineering background - “

Her words fall like crystals past her lips, reflecting the sunlight from the autumn day, and Fitz blinks several times to avoid the glare. But he smiles despite himself when her nail scratches wood. “How did you know what to do with the canister design?” he asks, interrupting her song as he swallows his smile. “I’ve never met anyone who knew the _real_ difference between synthetic compounds and - “

“- artificially created materials,” says Jemma, her breath beginning where his ends. “It was just a simple matter, really - I’ve read about it before, and your design reminded me about it, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt - “ She shakes her head, fingers crawling out of her bag and onto the straps. Her nails glitter pink starlight against the fallen leaves.

“Yes,” says Fitz, finally, carefully closing his book so to not crush his papers.

“Yes?”

“I’ll be your partner,” says Fitz, before grimacing slightly. “I don’t think anyone else would want me anyway.”

Jemma rolls her eyes, leaning against the table, her hands dancing against wooden ridges. Her bright smile mixes well with the breeze running through her hair. “While I’m positive that isn’t true, it doesn’t matter anyway, does it?”

And for the first time in forty days, Fitz exhales into a smile. “No, it doesn’t,” he says, barely a whisper, but she hears him clearly, his own excitement reflecting in her eyes. She promises to find him after her next lecture, she knows he’ll be by the same tree, she’s taken notes, and Fitz doesn’t have time to blink before she disappears into the throng of students moving to the lecture hall.

Fitz relaxes his jaw.

* * *

 

_ii. you fill my head with pieces_

“I got it!” Her voice pierces through his migraine, lodging firmly between his eyes and he looks at her and beams. Her hair sticks to her face and her sweater has long been discarded, but the vial in her hands dances in purple hues.

Pushing aside the notes scattered over their joint table, Fitz motions for her to bring the concoction over. But before she reaches him, Jemma frowns deeply, wrinkles lining her forehead in hazy yellow.

“Did we add the dendrotoxin before or after the stabilizing agent?” Her hand is frozen over the space between them.

Fitz frowns. “After,” he says slowly, carefully, flipping through memories quickly. “Definitely after.” There’s an extra skip to his breath, especially when Jemma pushes slightly forward towards him, but he refuses to panic. When he looks to Jemma with uncertain eyes, she grimaces into a smile.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think to check, all this work for nothing - “

“Simmons,” says Fitz, rolling his eyes, because if she’s panicking he can afford to relax, “don’t worry.” When she opens her mouth to do just that, Fitz shakes his head. “Do you trust me?”

Jemma narrows her eyes, but her tongue licks the corner of her lips. “Of course,” she says, soft voice reminding him of summer days under clear blue skies and stories shared under the shade of oak trees. When Jemma holds the world together with fragile threads, she trusts Fitz to twist the frayed pieces back together.

Fitz swallows. He ducks to the lower cabinets, rifling through them to find the tongs she’d tossed aside weeks earlier. They’re tucked between boxes of latex gloves and a dehumidifier. Fitz exhales and smiles. Laughing, he snaps the teeth several times as he stands, but once Jemma reprimands him, he relaxes and easily replaces her fingers with the wooden stand.

Absently, he catches her hand and massages her fingers while watching bubbles float to the surface of their combined potion. “Should we test it?” he asks. Jemma looks at him, and when she does Fitz realizes he’s holding her hand. He drops it quickly and turns, rubbing his neck. “Of course we should, you’re right.”

“Maybe I should - “ Jemma says from behind him, but Fitz has already poked the glass, watching the liquid sitr recklessly. He backs up into her as smoke whistles in front of them but she catches him with a small hand on his back. “It seems you were indeed correct.”

Fitz ignores her hand. “Of course I was correct,” he says with a smirk. “This is _my_ project - “

“Oh, _Fitz_ , don’t you start - you haven’t even finished the - “

“Gun?” says Fitz, reaching behind her to pull out a haphazard prototype, metal slices twisted around clear blue canisters. Jemma reaches for it with delicate hands and when he gives it to her, his chest aches at her gasp.

“You said it’d take you - “

“I was motivated,” he says, watching her studying the new design, the familiar excitement overtaking her eyes. He smiles. “So now if we don’t finish on time, it’s all on you.”

Jemma laughs and Fitz’s smile fades.

* * *

_iii. where the fields are painted gold_

“No.”

It’s the fifth time the word has left his lips, but she continues to pace in lazy circles around their living room. “Fitz - “

“No,” he says for the sixth time, arms crossed over his chest, knees curled up. The newest sketches for a weapon sit on the coffee table, but Fitz can’t look at them. They are too real now. “We can’t just uproot our lives to go on a silly little adventure - we have jobs and a home and - “

“We’d still have a job,” she says, still pacing, “and we’d just have a new home. Besides, we’d be together, and wasn’t that the whole point of this place anyway?” She motions around her and Fitz sighs.

His feet fall the floor, but his hands still grip his arms tightly. “I just don’t think it’d be that worthwhile - “

“Oh, _Fitz_ ,” says Jemma, sitting on the table before him, her knees brushing against his, “this is the most perfect opportunity to see the world. We’d be _fools_ to pass this one up.” Fitz shakes his head, sharply, her words clattering in his brain. “Fitz - “

“We didn’t pass our field assessments, what could they possibly - “

“Agent Weaver says that we don’t need to have passed, that our expertise will be more than adequate,” she says. She’s probably noticed his fingers loosening and his shoulders drooping. She always notices those things, Fitz thinks, especially when she’s staring at him with deep eyes and solid lips.

Fitz grits his teeth, but his shoulders relax. “You talked to Agent Weaver?”

Jemma nods. “She approached me today, actually, when you were meeting with Professor Vaughn.” Her hands runs down her legs until they linger just over his knees. “The offer was for _both_ of us, Fitz.”

Kneading his fingers in his lap, Fitz watches her eyes narrow. Her legs bounce and her fingers dance across his knee and she’s so excited that Fitz feels his chest crumble into golden dust that settles over his small smile. “You really want to go,” he says, and it’s not a question.

Jemma nods, slowly, eyes never leaving his. He glances down at her hands, still twitching together, and when he places his hand over hers, he sighs.

“Okay.”

* * *

 

_iv. the trees are filled with memories_

Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees her floating. Suspended from midair, she slips elegantly after a single breath of pause where her eyes flash blue and gold.

Then Jemma falls.

Fitz always snaps his eyes open after that, cold sweat pooled on his hairline and under his nose. He hugs his blankets tightly around him, warmth escaping from his cool toes, flashes building behind his eyes when he pulls his pillows closer. Surrounded by textile, images fade to recognitions and Fitz breathes easier.

Something hurts, something powerful and strong, and it tugs between his fingers and his throat. The monster returns after years, digging deeper, leaving marks over healed scars that tear open into shadows. His heart beats faster. His temples pound harder. She’s cracking eggs over his head, shattered shells crawling down his skin and itching into his veins. Nails digging into palms, Fitz closes his eyes.

This time, he hears his own voice screaming in his ears. Her name is in echo, vibrating between his head and heart, a thin thread of blood curling around the gaps in his insides. This time, he falls with her.

Fitz stares at the ceiling. His cheek still tingles.

* * *

 

_v. but my world is you_

She’s probably dead.

Garrett’s voice is harsh and loud and it crawls through his veins even as softer, stronger, better voices battle against his - but the fact of the matter is _she’s probably dead_ and that’s all Fitz can really think about.

The man of lead and steel stands before him with a chilly smile. Fitz cries, openly, the holes in his heart and guts spilling out through his eyes because this is the moment he feared when Jemma skipped into his life and opened her palms. “You’re gonna suffer for what you’ve done,” says Fitz, his lips tinged with invisible blood and his heart stuttering with each puncture of breath. “And I - “ his voice cracks between moments where the weight of his soul slips between his fingers, “I plan on being a very big part of that.”

Garrett turns away with metal orders and Fitz feels his world shift into darkness.

But when Jemma runs towards him, minutes, hours, years later - he’s embracing fire and he’s embracing light and he’s embracing the world against his heart and Fitz doesn’t think he can ever let go.

* * *

_one._

“I’m scared.”

Fitz never wanted those words to leave his lips and meet her ears. He never wanted her to see him fall apart into water and blood and bone, but at the same time she’s seen every part of him, from the dust to the ash, to sparks and flames, and now instead of seeing, she’s listening.

“So am I, Fitz,” she says and despite the little room around them, there is still so much space between. Her hand crawls towards his fingers and he lets it. “I’m sorry.”

Fitz frowns. “For what?” Her apologies feel raw and wrong, mingled with mold and clay. “This is my own bloody fault, I shouldn’t have gotten you - “

“I was the one who forced you into the field, remember?” says Jemma, her already tame voice turning to a whisper. “You didn’t want to be here.”

“You would never have to force me to follow you anywhere, Jem.”

And when she looks at him, sad smile and dim eyes, Fitz finally understands.

Fitz takes her hand and squeezes.

 

 


End file.
